The Christmas Party
by HellsScarletRose
Summary: FrUK fluff. I do not own Hetalia.  Francis after years of not caring about his solitude finally becomes lonely on Christmas Eve.  To rid himself of the feeling he throws a party, of course.  All nations are invited. All the relatively-sane ones, that is.
1. The Christmas Spirit

"Non, non. Zat won't do. Get me somezing zat fits ze zeme(theme)," said a voice. Its owner peered into the mirror, raising fine eyebrows at its reflection. "Why 'ello zere, 'andsome." He greeted it with an impressive eyebrow ripple, "vous are looking trés parfait."

The maid he'd rejected wasn't the least bit phased as she scuttled in with another new outfit. This complimentary of his reflection was nothing new around here. The man tore his gaze from the mirror and scanned the attire, nodding his approval.  
>He tugged the ruffled pink shirt from his upper-body, exposing skin. The toned abs trembled with the pattern of his breathing. He put on a winter-ice flannel and left the top few buttons undone. Then he put on some fancy Levi jeans and ventured into the bathroom. Combing his long, slightly shaggy hair, he arranged his mop into the normal-do. Save the turquoise ribbon he used to tie a bowed-ponytail with. Narrowing his eyes in scrutiny at the mirror, he decided to shave his little beard so there was only stubble left. <em>Ze fillies j'adore ze tickle, non? <em>

Finally, he meandered from his restroom and into the kitchen. Someone had already made him breakfast, probably Renée again. So he sat at the table and forked slices of crépe into his mouth while sipping Chardonnay until his meal was finished. Suddenly an inexplicable wave of loneliness barreled into him. It was Christmas Eve and he didn't even have a tree. Not even a girl to spend the day with. Well, except for Renée, but she didn't count. Been there, literally done that.

That gave him something to do, at least. After purchasing a tree he would throw a decorating Christmas Eve party. It was a lot to do in one day, but he _was _Francis Bonnefoy, after all. He stood up and strode out the door, grabbing an overcoat. He drove to the store, where he bought a large tree and at least four boxes of decorations. The tall blonde grinned in his excitement once he was in his house. He set up the tree after clearing a space in his living room and put up the new and old ornaments. Putting the variety of decorations in a row beside his tree, he left the interior of his home to string up the Christmas lights that accented the outside of the house. Neighbours raised eyebrows, some children even chastised him for not being in the "festive spirit until just now". To which he simply released his trademark cackle, and the kids fled. They immediately went to complain to their mothers about the creepy man with the beard and the foreign accent. Not that the mothers ever minded, of course, he was well-liked amongst their community. Very well-liked indeed. . .

Hours passed after the invitations were sent out. With only 15 minutes to 5 p.m., he had received 25 RSVPs. He hadn't wanted too many attendees; there were way too many countries. And they were allowed to bring two-three guests anyways. Unfortunately, this was the biggest party of the year. No one really enjoyed throwing them for fear of the arguments that usually ensued. Often there was too much bickering and the issue of selecting people who wouldn't murder each other. Hurting nations' feelings when they weren't invited wasn't exactly a walk in the park either. Unless it was a gross, horrid park. The biggest get-togethers were usually the world-wide meetings, how pathetic.

Right as he finished cooking the last bit of their dinner the sound of slamming car doors sounded. The man jumped before quickly regaining his composure and flitting over to the door. He flung it open and flourished his free hand in a grand, welcoming sweep. The first guest was blonde-haired and wore glasses before his blue eyes. He was followed by a shorter male with green eyes and about the same hair colour. That one happened to be the whole reason he had thought up this plan. Otherwise he would have just ran out to a bar, spent another holiday by his lonely self, had another meaningless one night stand. The Brit was followed by twenty-three other people, including the boy who was always forgotten. What was his name again?

The door closed behind them and the party started. People were welcome to the snack bar, but dinner would come later. They danced, they drank spiked cider, they hung ornaments, they argued. The arguments, however, died at dinner after Feliciano insisted that they need be polite due to Christmas just four hours away. They ate foods of various cultures and drank alcohol of various origins. Germany and Prussia guzzled beer, England and his brother downed whiskey, France sipped at his wine, et cetera.

Eventually everyone finished their meals and the conversations started to fail. Thus came the clapping of Francis' soft, slender hands and a call to attention. His blue eyes glinted with the flame of the candles, shimmering in delighted anticipation. "Time for truth or dare!" Oh crap. At least it was a minor of dangerous games he could've suggested. Knowing him, the list was plentiful and nearly imponderable.


	2. Truth or Dare

A certain obnoxious American was clapping his hands. Said American was now announcing that he got to dare someone first because of his hero status. "China, I choose you!"  
>The brunette tore his pretty milk-chocolate eyes from watching Lovino death glare at Ludwig. "Dare, aru. . ." sighed the man.<br>"Hahahahaha~ I dare you to give a full makeup session blind-folded to the person on your left." Yao flinched, he didn't even need to look to know who he would be making-over, judging by the light 'kolkolkol' and sound of metal hitting palm-flesh. The Russian might have well as been shooting daggers from his stormy violet gaze at the American. Hungary immediately produced a variety of cosmetics for the Chinese man's choice. Presumably he picked the tools that looked easiest to use. America turned and tore a strip of fabric from Canada's shirt without giving it a second thought, tying it around Yao's eyes. Though China's movements were careful, they were also clumsy and uncertain. He managed to successfully apply the eye-shadow over the lids. But repeatedly poked Ivan's eyes with both the mascara and eyeliner attempts. He brushed a cotton candy-pink blush over the pale cheeks and then fetched a light pink, slightly melted lipstick. He began painting the lipgloss over Russia's lips, but messed up when Gilbert jolted him with a particularly evil 'kesesesesese~'. The utensil slid up, applying the baby pink to the man's nose and smearing it outside the corners of his mouth. China had transformed scary-innocent Ivan into Scarfdolph the pink-nosed Tranny.

When the blindfold was removed and the lights retrieved everyone burst out laughing. Even Yao was amused, though he couldn't very well say so. Prussia's eyes sparkled deviously. "Now he looks more like you," he said to Ukraine evilly, "without the boobs." Ukraine's soft eyes widened and her sensitive feelings protested though she smiled pleasantly to keep her brother from murdering the albino on the spot.

"Hahahaha~ China's turn!" The obnoxious American announced much to the guests' exasperation. The game went on like so, becoming gradually more whimsical as the sobriety took its leave. The dare marking the end of the game was between Arthur and Francis from Gilbert, "Artie, I dare you to kiss Francey over there for at least fifteen seconds. Tongue included."

Hungary squealed excitedly and took two cameras from her bag. She gave the video camera to Kiku and took the regular one for herself.

Arthur's pretty emerald eyes widened, and he froze. He could feel the whiskey, among other alcohols, tingling around inside him. The buzz blurred his senses and thoughts. Meanwhile, France leaned in, and though his signature smirk remained plastered to his face and confidence oozed in his actions, his heart beat faster in nervous anticipation. Actually, it did that each time this happened. It just so happened that people said that if you were kissing your true partner, that it should feel like falling in love over and over again every time. And did it? Bien sûr, where do you think the Americans got that idea from anyways? The nation and king of love, of course. The person before him was his muse for such a saying. Francis couldn't help but notice the lovely jade colour of the Brit's stare. His lids fluttered shut, obscuring a perfectly turquoise blue gaze from sight. And then his stubble-blanketed chin tilted, head cocking slightly to the left. The other, Arthur, pitched forward suddenly and fell right onto his lips. The Frenchman's tongue immediately sought entrance into the Englishman's mouth. His partner was drunk, but it made no difference to the fireworks that ignited in his heart and mind or the electric shocks within his skin whenever Arthur touched him. Finally they pulled away, the shades revealing two pairs of eyes, colours contrasting in the obvious way that two were blue and the others green. The hooting and rousing of the party guests ensued, Elizaveta loudest of them all.


	3. Presents! Merry Christmas!

Around seven in the morning people either began to wake up to go home or get ready to leave. But stopped in the parlor. For there, beneath their recently-decorated tree, was pile after pile of presents. Courtesy of Finland, in case anyone was wondering where he had disappeared off to around eleven last night. They all opened their gifts, delivered either from Santa or one another. Upon receiving an AmeriMochi from America himself, Japan thanked him politely while England rolled his eyes. Self-centered bastard. The Brit sank down onto one of the couches with a sigh, noting that the Frenchman didn't hesitate to sit right next to him. He rubbed his eyes. He'd fallen asleep around the same time the party host had disappeared 'to get more alcohol'. The last thing he remembered was the ending to their Truth or Dare game. Oh- the last question. He swayed as a wave of hangover-induced nausea affected him, but regained his balance and opened his next present.

After the gift unwrapping was complete, dinner was provided yet again before everyone said their goodbyes. Everyone except for America, who insisted on staying with Canada for lack of a horror movie buddy, and England, who just didn't want to go home. The four of them sat in front of the large television. The American horror wasn't scary, it was quite repetitive. And humorous, yet Alfred jumped at every zombie that appeared on the screen. For crying out loud, the movie was _called _Zombieland.

Arthur sat watching, leaning against the armrest in his boredom. In all honesty, he was extremely tired, even though the time only showed to be 7. He could feel his consciousness slipping away, as he remained half-awake for the sake of his partners in watching the movie. At a particularly gory scene, where the American, Jesse Eisenberg's character smashed the zombie-clown with a mallet, Alfred literally let out an extremely squeamish squeal and cling to his younger brother. Francis, however, noticed Arthur's fatigue and released a well-practiced faux-yawn. He stretched either wiry arm behind his head before laying it across Arthur's shoulder. Britain didn't complain, if anything, he leaned into the embrace, causing France to wonder just how hung-over and exhausted his little lapin was.

They had all fallen asleep by the time Emma Stone's character had kissed Jesse's, and Woody Harrelson had finally gotten his Twinkie. Which was good thing, otherwise Alfred would've announced that he needed food right then and paused the whole thing just to get some kind of junk food. They lay spread out along the exquisite black sofa, Arthur and Francis propped against one another, each of their weights holding the other up. Arthur's head settled on Francis' shoulder, and France's cheek on Arthur's head. England was lightly snoring, as he did post-drinking, so pretty much every night. Alfred was snoring too, but lightly was an understatement. Like as in a Canada understatement. His jaw fell open, and he breathed in with heavy, loud breaths. He lay on Canada's side, who was sleeping against the other armrest. They were so adorable, if Liz or Kiku had been there, there would've been at least fifteen shots of this little scene.


End file.
